


Rust and Stardust.

by asteri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asteri/pseuds/asteri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s the most terrifying, powerful thing you’ve ever met. He’s beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rust and Stardust.

 

 

He is  _unfathomably_  old.

He’s older than you can comprehend - his existence is not bound to a linear timeline, like the earth and the trees and the sky. He’s been all powerful, a god, a seraph, a leader. He’s incredible; you know this. He’s a burning, massive star shoved into a vessel that barely contains the enormous power he has, he is. When you touch him, you can feel the crackle of electricity humming in his veins, beneath the borrowed skin.

He’s the most terrifying, powerful thing you’ve ever met. He’s beautiful.

You know this, you’ve always known this. He’s so breathtaking it stuns you, sometimes. His long, slender fingers are exquisite as they wrap around the knife that’s pummeling in your skull. The dark shadows of his wings punch the breath from your gut, as you’re once again reminded that he’s not of this world. You’re just a man. He’s an Angel of the Lord, you remind yourself, clenching your fist as he steps closer to you. You’re just a blip in his existence, you chant in your head, over and over until sleep swallows you down.

Then he falls, thrust into the brutality of humanity by Metatron, and you don’t know what to do. Because it’s the same blue eyes, the same slender fingers that you see, but instead of energy you feel under your fingertips, it’s skin, sticky with blood and lacking a heartbeat. But then he’s healed, and he leaves, and you’re sick with the realization that he’s no longer the most powerful thing you know - he can be killed with a cold or a flight of stairs, by weather and hunger. And you’ve sent him out to fend for himself with virtually nothing. He was an Angel of the Lord, you tell yourself. He’s smart and strong and can fend for himself. These are the thoughts that let you sleep at night, as you carefully shove down the vivid memory of the blade in his human chest.

You surprise him after he calls you; visiting where he’s working with a fake grin on your face as you order things you don’t really want. He tells you he had nothing when he fell, and you pretend you’re not breaking. You had Me, you want to say. You’ve always had me. But then you remember you kicked him out, and you wet your lips and grip the plastic counter, and pretend your knuckles don’t turn white. When you fix his hand later, dabbing antiseptic on the tender skin and setting his broken wrist in a store bought cast, your hands are steady with military preciseness but your stomach is brutally churning as you play out his near death, again, over and over in your mind. You leave him again, giving a gruff apology for kicking him out, because it’s the most you can manage. You’re a coward, and you know this. You know that you could have said so much more to him, but you’re weak and afraid and you don’t. You drive back to the bunker, and your eyes are wet and stinging only because of the wind blowing through the windows.

And then, he’s an angel again. He’s back in a trench coat, he doesn’t sleep or eat and he has his grace again, and you should be happy. You should be so relieved, but all you can think about is how his skin felt under your palms, soft and warm and pulsing, and you can’t bear it. You’re selfish, and cowardly, and you know this; so you distance yourself and you don’t touch him, because if you do you’ll feel the crackling in his veins and the smell of stars in his hair and then the illusion will be ruined, and you’ll be reminded that you are just a blip in his existence, and you are just a man.

. 


End file.
